


Walking by the Gate

by PrairieDawn



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Academy Era, Gen, Solidarity, Trektober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: Spock and another cadet share their struggles at the Academy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	Walking by the Gate

**Author's Note:**

> Trektober Promptfic: "Spock", "Academy Era", "gate"
> 
> This is a rough draft of a flashback scene for the forthcoming "The Only Constant in the Universe"
> 
> Again, experimenting with written all in one day and barely proofread work.

Every morning on the way to calisthenics Spock passed the white arched gate that separated the Starfleet Academy campus from the rest of San Francisco, his chopping steps sounding in unison with the other eight members of his squad. Every morning the air felt damper and colder, night fell earlier, and the grass under his hands as he did push ups in unison with eighty-six other cadets bled the chill into his fingers.

It wasn’t that the physical training was difficult. He and the one Andorian member of his squad outperformed the others easily in everything but long distance running and even there they held their own near the front of the pack. 

He was performing adequately in class, impressing all of his instructors save the single Vulcan, who he was uncertain would have been impressed with Surak himself. Yet he knew he was not performing at his best. The first year was intended to test them to the breaking point and Spock had found and, he feared, exceeded his.

They completed 40 reps of the bizarrely named Burpees. Spock hopped smartly to his feet. His squad leader, Mr. Lawrence, stopped beside him. “You think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you, Cadet Spock?”

“No, Mr. Lawrence.”

It was the wrong answer. Mr. Lawrence leaned in to within a few centimeters of his face. “I thought Vulcans didn’t lie.”

“We do not,” he said.

“Come a time we’ll need that superior brain and body of yours. It belongs to Starfleet. Don’t sell it short just to fit in with the rest of these plebes.”

“No, Mr. Lawrence.”

“I don’t think you’re being sufficiently challenged. Cadet Zamecki is taking a long time to finish his workout. Why don’t you keep him company until he’s finished? Keep cycling through actives until he’s done.”

“Yes, Mr. Lawrence.”

Lawrence turned smartly on his heel and marched off toward Archer Hall. Spock moved so that he could see Zamecki from behind as the other cadet struggled through his push-ups. He moved easily into jumping jacks, finding the rhythm allowed him to enter light meditation while he dutifully kept watch over Zamecki. The pressure on his shields abated in the nearly empty field and the lack of a weight he barely acknowledged made him light and energetic. He switched to windmills as Zamecki finally moved from push-ups to burpees. 

The wind picked up, and with it, the mist condensed into more of a light rain. Zamecki collapsed onto the wet grass, panting. Spock straightened, tugged at his cadet uniform, and took sixteen measured steps to wait, regulation at-ease, beside Zamecki. The cadet raised himself onto his elbows, still breathing hard.

“Are you ill, Zamecki?” Spock asked.

“Cramp in my side,” Zamecki got out with some effort. He rolled onto his back. “Don’t want to make you miss lecture.”

“I am content to wait as long as is necessary.”

“Must be nice,” Zamecki muttered at the ground. “Everything comes easy to you.”

Spock chose not to correct Zamecki’s misapprehension. Zamecki sat with effort, brushed droplets off his cadet uniform, and hauled himself to his feet, but stumbled, instinctively reaching out to Spock for support. Spock offered an arm and Zamecki leaned heavily into him, exhaustion, frustration, and pain scraping over his weakened shields.

“I’m not cut out for this,” Zamecki said once he regained his footing. “I ought to quit before I embarrass myself further.”

“You have put considerable time and effort into this endeavor,” Spock said while keeping pace with Zamecki. “Unless you believe you will suffer permanent injury by continuing, is it not logical to continue?”

They passed the gate on their way back to the cluster of campus buildings. Spock wondered whether he was addressing Zamecki or himself. Archer Hall loomed ahead of them both. He devoted a moment to his bearing and schooled his face to neutrality. Zamecki, already exhausted by the morning’s calisthenics, mounted the stairs with deliberate steps that endeavored to hide how tired he was from the door sentry.

They reached the closed doors to the huge main lecture hall. Five hundred cadets crammed into shoulder to shoulder seating, even intimidated into silence, still assaulted his ears with shifts in position, suppressed coughs, and fingers tapping on datapads.

“I regret that my weakness caused you to have to do extra exercises and wait for me,” Zamecki said, somewhat formally.

“It is of no consequence. The time away from our classmates was a welcome respite.”

“It’s good of you to say that, Mr. Spock.”

“Mr. Zamecki,” he said before he opened the door. “I too have considered leaving the Academy.”

“Why? You’re good at everything.”

“I am expected to be. Anything less than perfection is perceived as failure. In addition, the environment is calibrated to human norms. It is loud and cold, I find it difficult to adjust to the bluish lighting, and I, like most Vulcans, find dense crowds uncomfortable. If I remain in Starfleet, I will be subjected to a human-centric environment for the rest of my career.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Because I cannot return home, he didn’t say. “Because I will adjust, just as you will grow physically stronger with training. You understand the intricacies of Federation law more thoroughly than I do and you are a skilled negotiator. Starfleet would be diminished by your loss.”

“And by yours,” Zamecki replied.

They nodded to each other, set their faces and straightened their postures, and entered the lecture hall late, ignoring the rudely craning necks of some of their fellow cadets. He and Zamecki belonged here as much as any of the others, and they would not be denied.


End file.
